


Winter Nights

by argent_writer



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Arthur writes journals, Arthur's POV, FACE family dynamics, Francis is a snoop, Francis' POV, M/M, Pirate! Fruk later on
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-24
Updated: 2016-01-24
Packaged: 2018-05-14 13:23:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5745457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/argent_writer/pseuds/argent_writer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Arthur Kirkland liked to write. Francis, in particular, knew this. So it was no surprise when the man found a series of journals in Arthur’s not-really-library when snooping around on a wet November night."<br/>Francis, obviously curious, decides to read these journals and reminisces the past with Arthur's entries.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Albion and Gaul

**Author's Note:**

  * For [IvyS](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IvyS/gifts).



> So this is from the fruk new years gift exchange for a-spoonfulofsuga. Hope you like it!

Arthur Kirkland liked to write. Francis, in particular, knew this. So it was no surprise when the man found a series of journals in Arthur’s not-really-library when snooping around on a wet November night. They were all in a section labelled ‘Memoirs to read in case of amnesia or something terribly drastic.’ The journal he had in his hand was a light grey one, the words “Winters with the Frog” written in Arthur’s neat script. It perked Francis’ interest immediately, and with unsuppressed curiosity, he opened it and started reading.

 ---

‘So, the winter nights. Honestly, I doubt this one will manage to recover a lot, but they hold great sentiment to me’ Francis grinned at that. ‘and _anything_ frog-related somehow _does_ end up doing that. But anyway, these events did _seem_ to be mere coincidences, but, really, they were anything but that. Slowly but steadily, they developed to become a tradition. If I were to say anything, I would say it stemmed from the 1500s, when our bosses decided to seek an alliance with each other. Francis, on the other hand, would argue that it started much earlier, from when we were both still Gaul and Albion, mere children being ruled by the Roman Empire. He’s right, unfortunately.’

Francis grinned at this. “It’s finally the apocalypse- Arthur thinks I’m right.” He murmured to himself and continued with Arthur’s prologue.

‘Nevertheless, our nights of companionship during the winter- although I do loathe admitting it at times- were greatly cherished. However, these tales wouldn’t make sense unless I started at the beginning.’

'If you know your history exceptionally well, it started with my people (the Celts and those allied to Belgae) offering aid to prevent Gaul from being conquered by Rome. I don’t exactly recall the details, however, but their form of aid was to actually help at the front lines. Rome decided my people’s interference was enough proof that I needed to be subdued. And how did he do that exactly? Storming into my house, picking me up (after I gave him a black eye because of my endless thrashing) and getting forced to meet all of my fellow provinces- despite the fact I had no idea what the bloke was babbling on about or what on earth had just conspired.

It was weird enough for me to see various people talking in that odd language. The weirdness seemed to amplify when I met my so-called ‘fellow provinces’. I was looking around Rome’s house when I saw a blonde boy who was, oddly, not speaking the funny language either. Rather, he was gesturing violently to a sunny looking brunette, who was laughing. They looked around my age, but I didn’t know whether to talk to them or not. Fortunately, my decision was no longer needed as the two then turned to me, the brunette asking “Nova provincia es?” [‘Are you a new province?]

I had looked at him oddly. The brunette smiled. “Ego intellego. Sum Hispania.” [I understand. I’m Hispania.] He pointed to himself. The blonde boy, who had been quiet until now, decided to introduce himself too. Like Hispania, he pointed to himself. “Gaul.”

‘Ah.’ I had thought. ‘That must be the guy the Celts defended. He doesn’t look like much.’

As I realised that the two weren’t hostile, I decided to introduce myself. Following what they did previously, I said “Albion.”

That was the very first of my encounters with Francis (and Antonio), and, for a while, he and I found ourselves corresponding frequently.

Francis and I were ruled over by the same boss. As we were relatively close, Francis usually travelled to my house during trade visits or whenever he felt he needed company from anyone other than Antonio. The most memorable visit was when it started snowing while we were in the fields.’

_-_

Francis gasped as the adjacent page started glowing. There it had a drawing of him when he was a lot younger, walking towards a large willow tree. He remembered that night, only vaguely, which made him try to remember what exactly happened for Arthur to draw a still from it. But what _really_ surprised him was that it wasn’t an image, as it slowly started to move. He realised that the scene was starting to play. Entranced, he watched the page as the scene played out.

-

_“Ah, Albion! There you are!” Gaul cried, looking at the figure perched upon a tree branch._

_The nation in question faced Gaul, grinning. “Gaul! It’s Britannia now. Rome re-named me.” His grin quickly turned into a grimace as he hopped off the branch._

_“Ah, he does that sometimes.”_

_“Good point,_ Gallia. _”_

 _Gaul frowned. “I_ did _tell you not to call me that, Britannia”_

_“I’ll not call you Gallia if you won’t call me Britannia. Britannia was my mum.” Albion frowned._

_“Alright then.”_

_As the young nations sat down, cold, white flakes began falling from the sky. Arthur looked up, wrinkling his nose when one of the aforementioned flakes landed on it. “What-” He started but got cut off by Gaul. “It’s snowing! Albion, look! Ooh, winter’s coming!”_

_Albion laughed as he watched Gaul bounce excitedly. “I never knew you were this excited for winter, Gaul.” Gaul smiled and twirled._

_“What can I say? Winter is truly magical.”_

_Albion cocked his head. “Is it really?”_

_Gaul hummed. “Well, to me it is. But if this is about the magical properties of it or something…” He trailed off, looking at Albion. Albion shook his head. “Never mind that, I can ask someone later. Tell me what you think about winter.” He demanded. “Or something interesting. I’m_ bored. _”_

_Gaul grinned at Albion’s response, an idea striking him quickly. “Well then, if the snow settles, then we can play a cool game I saw these to kids do.”_

_“Ooh, what is it?” Albion asked, leaning in and shivering slightly._

_Gaul grabbed the other boy’s hand, moving him closer. “Come on. We're going to your house to warm up. I'll tell you there.”_

_“B-but we just got here!” The younger nation protested, albeit weaker than intended._

_“And leave you to freeze?” He chuckled when Albion shook his head. “Exactly.”_

_When the two reached the house, the snow had started to collect on the ground, and Albion couldn't help but find himself interested by it. “Pretty, isn't it?” Gaul asked. Albion grinned._

_“Yeah, never saw it snow this much. What's the game about Gaul?”_

_“Why don't I tell you later? I'm sleepy.” Gaul replied, yawning for extra effect, which, in turn, made Albion fume. “You said you'd tell me!” He whined, pinching him hard. Gaul yelped in pain but conceded to him before he decided to pinch him harder._

_He then spent the next 20 minutes explaining to Albion the concept of a snowball fight. When Albion finally understood what he meant by a snowball, he decided that there would be no harm in having a snowball fight of their own. “Ah, ah, ah, Albion.” Gaul tutted, holding the boy back. Proceeding to check the snow, he then concluded; “Nope. It’s still too thin. You’d have to wait a bit” Albion huffed impatiently._

_“But what can I do to wait?” He moaned._

_“Well, we could always talk?” Gaul offered. Albion stared at him._

_“About what? There’s practically nothing to talk about.”_

_Gaul sighed. “See, this is why I talk to Hispania more, he’s always got something.”_

_Albion glared at him. “And this is why_ I _talk to Flying Mint Bunny more- he’s never this mean.” Gaul glared back at him._

_Their glaring contest was only to be broken up from a shout in the distance. "That's my time to leave," Gaul said abruptly and turned away, walking briskly. Albion fumed more. "You said we would have a snowball fight, you prat!" He exclaimed. "Oi, Gaul! The next time it snows, you and I are gonna have a snowball fight! You heard me?" Gaul laughed. "I'm taking that as a yes," He mumbled as the long-haired boy made his way back up the path and to the docks. "The prat."_

-

‘As you can tell, Francis was a right little shit when we were children (Still is in fact). He _did_ pay me back for that snowball fight he owed me, only a lot later than we both thought. As you may or may not know (probably the latter, actually) this was when the Roman Empire was starting to weaken, eventually leading to its collapse, leaving many of the ex-provinces vulnerable to attacks. Many nations experienced Viking raids often, usually pillaging our monasteries as they tended to have the most gold. I saw little of anyone except Lukas and Matthias when they went on the raids- and that was quite rare- or my brothers, who I usually avoided constantly. Francis was too busy minding his own country from the raids, so I never visited him during those times and vice versa. In fact, I almost forgot about Francis until after 1066- the year I got a Norman bastard for a boss.’

\---

“Francis! I know you’re there in my library!” He jumped at the sudden disturbance. Arthur was home.

“I’m not, cher, you’re just guessing!” He called back, snapping the journal shut, placing it back to where it originally was, then grabbed the nearest book and made an attempt to make it look like he was reading it.

“I can smell your frogginess. It’s very noticeable.” Arthur stated amusedly, his voice growing louder as he neared the room. Francis rolled his eyes. _‘Maybe next time,’_ he thought, as he greeted Arthur with his customary don’t-mind-me-I’m-just-invading-your-privacy- _again_ smile. _‘I’ll read the rest of it.’_


	2. England and France

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: Unfortunately, for this fic to make sense, the episode Crossing In the year 1000 would have to be dismissed (would that be the word? :/ ) In the first flashback, Arthur is 8 and Francis is 11 and in the second, Arthur is 10 and Francis is 13.

Francis snuck into Arthur’s house the next night- successfully, he may add- and navigated himself to Arthur’s reading room, for another account about himself and winter with Arthur. The journal was exactly where he left it last- in between the other various coloured journals on the bottom shelf. He picked it up and sat in the armchair beside the shelf, making himself comfy.

\---

‘A man called William the Bastard (he really was one, I can confirm) decided it would be a good idea to claim his link to the throne of England after Edward the Confessor died. However, there was already a new king, Harold, so naturally, William declared war. There was a dramatic battle that took place at Hastings on October 1066. The victor was William, and after time, he conquered the rest of England and was crowned king in the earlier days of 1067.

So how does he tie in with one of my run-ins with Francis? Well, he was also the duke of Normandy, which happened to be part of France, thus keeping his French relations were a priority. In late November or so, he dragged me to a meeting with the king of France, possibly to show how powerful he was, when I saw a glimpse of a familiar shade of blonde hair. Of course, I had to stay put, but that didn’t deter me from finding out who it was.

-

Francis could see yet another memory page. On it was an impatient-looking Arthur who hadn’t looked like he aged. He was standing awkwardly near William the Conqueror, who was talking to one of the said dukes of France- whom Francis couldn’t remember the name of. Floating in the air a handful of metres away from England was a… A winged rabbit? ‘Ah. That must be Flying Mint Bunny.’ Francis realised. He smiled when he realised what this was and let the scene commenced.

_-_

_“Psst! Flying Mint Bunny can you help me?” England hissed discreetly, looking around for the aforementioned animal. Soon enough, it popped up, flying around the child. “Hello, England! What’s wrong?” The bunny asked, noticing the very obvious fidgeting that England was doing._

_“Do you remember how Gaul looked like?” he asked, eyes darting to the ground. Flying Mint Bunny nodded. “Yeah! Why?”_

_“Well, I thought I saw him. I don’t know whether it was him or not, but I can’t check. So can you…?” England trailed off awkwardly, looking at the flying animal. Mint Bunny only laughed and flew off. England took that as a yes. He lingered near his boss, as told, until Mint Bunny returned._

_“England! It’s him!” It squeaked. England’s eyes widened._

_“Where is he?” He hissed, eager to know. He hadn’t seen him for years- decades, even- so he was eager to talk to him again._

_“I’m right here. Why, Albion, talking to the air? That’s very unlike you. But it seems you’ve taken up a new name. Was it England?” A voice asked, amused._

_England spun around. “You! You still owe me a snowball fight!” He yelled, hitting the source of the voice. It screamed. “Yep, you’re Gaul, alright,” England concluded. “Only he screams like that.”_

_“Now that’s just mean,” he grumbled, rubbing the area where England punched him. “Mon Dieu that hurt!”_

_England’s boss and the current guy he was talking to turned to face the both. “Ah, England, It seems you’ve introduced yourself to France already,” William said airily. France grimaced._

_“That is the understatement of the year,” He grumbled, only loud enough for England to hear. He giggled, making the others look at him weirdly. England ignored them and turned to France. “You’re called France now?” He asked._

_“Took you long enough,” He teased, causing England to roll his eyes._

_“Shut up, you prat,” He replied, but he was grinning. “At least I didn’t wait to see someone for a few hundred years.” France huffed at this._

_“That could barely be helped. You can blame the Vikings for that.” He looked warily at England’s boss, who, luckily, didn’t hear him. England nodded in agreement._

_“‘I’ve talked to one of them a few times when they weren’t raiding.” England piped up, trying to steer the conversation away from the sadder side of the raids that they both experienced. “He wasn’t too bad- he could see the fey people too.” France’s mouth quirked at this._

_“Could he really now?” He asked skeptically._

_“Yep. He said he was Norway.” England said in a matter-of-fact matter. “And he had this huge troll who would follow him around and stuff!” France’s smirk had formed into a genuine smile by then and allowed England to describe the rest of his escapades in detail. Neither one had realised that their bosses had left them in order to go inside._

_-_

‘After that re-encounter, Francis would tend to bug me even more than when we were Gaul and Albion, which always mystified me, seeing as he had ‘tons of nation stuff’ he needed to do (well that was how he put it whenever he ran off). I suppose it was then when we started to think things like ‘Damn it, France needs to visit me again,’ or for Francis’ case ‘Hmm, I need to bug Angleterre, don’t I? *insert froggy laugh here*’

We would talk about very general things, the latest wars and sometimes about other nations, but nothing too personal. It was common to know a country but not know their human name at that time, as a formality. Knowing their human name probably implied a close relationship between two countries. So when he and I exchanged names during the time when the Bubonic plague broke out, we truly thought we wouldn’t see each other again.’

Francis stopped at that and checked quickly as to whether Arthur had returned yet. When he affirmed to himself that he hadn’t, he continued, wanting to see the memory of that night.

'Now I won’t go into specifics because the things I saw at around 8 years old were quite traumatising, but everyone was dying. Every day I’d walk around town to find that at least one person had died. Francis’ visits started to reduce and we’d started to arrange places to meet in fear we caught the plague, even though we were both nations who would only die if all our citizens died. I suppose it was the paranoia of even finding a dead body which set us to do so.

We knew our people were dying, and as a pessimistic young nation who knew about the fall of countries, I was terrified. So it was up in our tree where I decided to blurt out my fears.’

-

_England shifted on the branch, as France talked more about the prank he and Prussia set up on a duke’s wife. He kept fidgeting as France delved further into the story. France had caught up on this soon enough and stopped his narrative. “England. Are you okay?” He asked hesitantly, putting a hand on his shoulder. England didn’t move. “Angleterre?” France tried again._

_He finally looked up, meeting France’s eyes. “What would happen if we died, France?” he said, softly. “What if one day we wake up and all there is is just an empty land?” France looked at England._

_“What makes you think that? Isn’t that a bit dramatic?” He asked, trying to lighten it up a little. England looked at him._   
_“We’ve both seen it happen. What if it happened to us?” He challenged him. France sighed._ _  
_ _“Look, if you keep with these depressing thoughts, lapin, you’ll be in misery for a long time.”_

_“Yes, but,” England replied, “I don’t want to wake up and find out you’re gone.”_

_France smiled. “Nice to know that you_ do _care for me after all,” He said teasingly. England scowled and huffed irritably._  
_“I try to open up to you, and this is what I get?” He complained, kicking the air._ _  
__“If it helps, I worry about you too,” France added hastily. “And even though I have Spain and Prussia, it wouldn’t be as interesting if you weren’t here.”_

_“Of course, it wouldn’t,” England said smugly, which in turn caused France to chuckle. “But if I died, no one would have ever known my name, except for the human who named me,” he mumbled in an undertone._

_“Really? Now that’s pretty sad,” France commented. “Prussia and Spain know mine. We all told each other our names when the plague started to get bad.”_

_“You’re great at making me feel better, thanks,” England mumbled in reply, which Francis frowned at._ _  
_ _“You didn’t let me finish!” At that, England rolled his eyes but let him continue. “As I was saying, when you know someone else knows your name, it feels pretty good, like you’ve just told someone a secret that you’ve kept for ages.”_

_“Are you implying…?”_

_“That you tell me your name? No. But if you’re really that concerned about a name, then just tell someone you want to tell.”_

_"Mine’s Arthur, then.” England decided to say, which caught France a little off guard._

_“I didn’t mean now!” He exclaimed._  
_“Well you_ did _say to tell someone I wanted to tell and I didn’t know when else to tell you!” Arthur shot back, which made France shake his head in exasperation._ _  
__“You are unbelievable. It’s Francis, I suppose.” He said._

 _“What?”_ _  
_ _“My name.”_

_“Oh.” The two sat in silence._

_“Francis?” Arthur said, hesitantly._   
_“Hmm?”_ _  
_ _“... Thanks.”_

_-_

Francis put the journal down, grinning all the while at the memory. He closed the journal again, as to make sure Arthur wasn’t there. Coincidentally, he heard the door unlock as Arthur returned and he carefully put it back to its shelf. He looked for another book (he knew from experience that there was no point in manically rushing to a window when it came to escaping) and started to read it instead.

Minutes later, Arthur entered the room with a cup of tea to find Francis engrossed in one of his books. “Why do I keep finding you here?” He asked amusedly as Francis looked up from the book.  
“No reason?” he replied in an innocent-sounding manner  
“Right…” Arthur said. He would let it slide for now, but he was going to find out, somehow.

**Author's Note:**

> Both Francis and Arthur's ages during the flashback are around 7 years old.


End file.
